No Filter: A Filipina Girl's Bipolar Disorder Story (1)

Trigger Warnings: abuse, manipulation, love-bombing, narcissist, mental illness, cheating, trauma, suicidal ideation

I’ve always been an unusual girl. 

At first, I thought that I was an artist with a creative soul. Artists were supposed to be moody, creative and unpredictable. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always known that I will grow up to be a writer so I embraced my crazy impulses and unconventionality.

I thought that being a writer meant experiencing life with open arms. I lived on the edge and chose the paths that pushed the limits. I thought that being a part of the creative community meant that I should be authentic and unfiltered.

Guess what? I was wrong. Dead wrong. 

Those creative spurts, fantastic projects that were never finished and crazy unusual life decisions? That was Mania. Those moody and miserable periods? That was actually Depression.

I was always swinging in between because I didn’t know that I was sick with an invisible, debilitating mental health disorder. I've always lived with the intense emotions, the unpredictable mood swings and the insane decisions I've taken in my life.

That’s why I always said that I was a study of contradictions: worse than an angel, better than the devil. I didn’t know that I was sick all along. 

My illness was good at hiding until I started hearing voices. That’s when I started to question whether or not I’m creative or just plain sick.

To everyone, I look like any regular girl in my black dress, lipstick and an office ID. I was well-read, cultured and humorous. I could make friends in anyone in the room and I've always presented a social, outgoing personality to everyone. People think that there’s nothing wrong with me. 

Nobody ever suspected that I had Bipolar Disorder. Not me, not my family and certainly not my circle of friends. Only a professional would have been able to spot my troublesome mood swings. 

When I’m feeling good, I look exactly just as the pretty picture I’ve shared with you. When I’m feeling worse, I’m going to look unkempt and untidy because I can’t take care of my personal appearance when I’m dying inside. I am a firm believer that my personal appearance is the gauge of my current mood. 

Bipolar Disorder is a mood disorder. It’s an illness that affects a person’s mood or emotional climate. Most of its sufferers will experience intense mood swings like depression and mania. It’s a mental disorder that will ultimately affect a person’s decisions, attitude and occupation. It can ruin your life faster than you can say The Flash. 

Then you’ll probably experienced a mixed episode so you’ll be so depressed you want to kill yourself but you also have enough energy to carry it out. 

It’s sad to think that most of the people who are diagnosed with this illness will be more prone to suicide. They also make up for a large percentage of completed suicides. That’s a cheery thought, right? 

What’s even more cheery is that you’d probably need 10 years before you actually diagnose it correctly. 

By then, you’d have fucked up your entire life so bad that offing yourself seems like the best option. Believe me, I reached that hard, unforgiving rock bottom before I found out about my condition.

When I was 26, I looked normal but my life was falling apart at the seams. Let me give you a short biography: I have a job, I finished college, I’ve got family, I’ve got friends and I’ve got a pretty normal life. 

At that time I was working in a dead-end call center job that forced me to work at night at the start of the summer of 2015. In that job, I couldn’t get promoted because I was missing a lot of days at work. There were days when I couldn't get out of bed to go to work or I skipped out on my shift impulsively because I didn't feel like going. 

I also lived in a crowded dorm without an air conditioner in the arid, humid climate of Metro Manila so I survived with sleeping for only 2-3 hours everyday. This continue for four months and I relied heavily on coffee to stay awake. 

I was feeling anxious all the time because my nuclear family unit was also imploding and my fling with an abusive, manipulative guy named Nikon after Reggie was breaking apart. 

In a classic Manic Mimi move, I'd replaced Reggie with another toxic, manipulative man who made me pay for our dates, our trips to the motel, our trips to Lipa and other expenses. I was trapped in a circle of Hell that was my own making. 

Nobody knew that I was also mourning for a baby that I’ve lost in an abortion earlier that year. It was due to Reggie's insistence that I'd gotten the abortion that he paid for. The grief, the anxiety, the self-loathing, the regret and the other emotions were turned up to 11 and the intensity was swirling inside of me. 

As expected, I made bad choices left and right due to sleep deprivation, deep grief and intense stress. All of these problems were happening at the same time. I was very stressed, tired and suicidal.

One day, my mind just snapped when Nikon told me that I was toxic to him and I should focus on fixing my family. 

I went home to my dorm room that was already 38 degrees Celsius to get some sleep before my job. My mind didn’t stop racing with fantastic thoughts even as I dozed. I woke up an hour before my shift then I told my boss I was feeling sick. 

My mind didn’t stop racing with fantastic thoughts like my suicide. I wanted very badly for my life to end so I could stop feeling the pain. My chest felt heavy everyday and I cried every night. I couldn't do anything without feeling anxious, self-critical and uneasy.

As I lay in the dark, I started hearing a crying baby. There were no children in our street. The crying grew louder and louder. I thought that I was being haunted. I prayed the rosary. It was 1 AM and I was so afraid. 

My mind finally turned on me. 

Let's be honest right now. I aborted my first child under duress by my ex-boyfriend, Reggie, because he didn't want to have a child from an extra-marital affair. I was trapped in a position that left me vulnerable, helpless and completely alone. My ex/abuser made sure that I could never, ever turn to anyone for help.  

As a Roman Catholic, I was scared for my eternal soul. I thought that it was only fitting to be haunted because he was in limbo. I envisioned the fires of hell, the thick fog of limbo and the waiting darkness. 

When I turned on the light, I hallucinated that a baby boy was wrapped in a blanket. He was waiting for me on the bed, crying incessantly. I could hear howling in the background. I didn’t realize that the sound was coming from me. 

My tears wouldn’t stop trickling down my cheeks. It was my son! It was my baby who needed me to stop crying. I picked up the baby and rocked it to sleep. 

Dawn finally broke the night. It was hours later when I realized that I was holding only my pillow in my arms. My chest tightened. I thought about drowning myself then and there. The Pasig River was just a block away and it would be so easy to walk into it with hollow blocks tied to my arms.

My baby was calling out to me and I didn’t want him to feel so lonely. I prayed to God for guidance because the feeling of swimming in the most polluted river in the world with hollow blocks tied to my ankles was starting to become a good idea.

To be continued.